


lean // catch

by imperiality



Series: Hope . . Have (Works Inspired by Batmorphy) [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, No Smut, Prose Poem, Shiro and Kolivan are more mentions than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperiality/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Keith is deliciousAllura delivers





	lean // catch

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing too too terribly raunchy, but I did want to put the rating up just in case!
> 
> The 5th and final part of [batmorphy's](https://batmorphy.tumblr.com) inspiration. [Here's the art!](https://batmorphy.tumblr.com/post/167161525569/thirst)  
> Hope you guys have enjoyed the ride; I've certainly delighted in writing all of these and whipping them out. ((Now to get cracking on these Christmas Exchange fics :') ))
> 
> Here you go!
> 
> (So an edit before I'm even posting- batmorphy just updated with another wonderful piece!! For right now, let's just say the series will be continuing indeterminately. Until I'm not inspired, I'll keep on writing :3 )
> 
>  
> 
> And I can't believe I almost forgot- happy Thanksgiving for those who celebrate!

Stress is a physical hand weighing down on Keith. All around his person he feels its pressure; down his chest, across his shoulder blades, up his arms and… around his legs.

Voltron was the kind of stress with which Keith could live. The rush of a rescue, euphoric connection- Keith needed only to shower or stretch or breathe to decompress. Hand-shaking, people-mingling and brave-facing Keith could all do. Has done. Will do.

This kind of stress is different. And yields to no good pause.

He marches himself to the training room more. His blade needs sharpening, that’s it. He’s irritable because he’s been away from Red for so long. He needs to experience flight again! not by proxy. He needs to pilot again.

He needs relief.

Every draw of his sword in the training room only drains his focus. He himself is taking the brunt of the dulling for his knife.

_Your welcome._

Sleep is a dominating, teasing mistress. Keith would rather not tempt her misfortune any more than he has to.

Time is a whimsical and fleeting olympian; he can’t expend any more of it than he already has in trying to placate Black. Channeling to Red.

Flight is out of the question.

Rest is out of the question.

Training’s out of the question.

But he has so many- well. That’s a lie. He’s got all but one question, and it’s _why_.

 _Why is he feeling this way. Why isn’t sleeping enough? Why can’t he go back to Red, why does he feel so expended._ Why, why, _why_.

His hummingbird heart settles for no breath he draws. Each step becomes more leaden than the last, and his wick is burning his fuse is dying his mind is screaming and he _needs_ ** _relief_**.

Manically he crashes into the oasis of Allura’s room.

_I need you, princess._

He is _parched_.

She approaches him with all the grace and puissance of the title born to her. Keith just wants to rip her crown away.

So she humbles herself, letting herself be crowded by Keith’s arms, Keith’s chest, Keith’s lips, Keith’s breath leaning over her. Into her. He crashes them to a wall, and drinks her in.

Allura’s unwavering eyes. Her parted lips. Her short, sugary breaths.

(He sees her in the battle-suit and all the power thrumming just beneath. He wants to be torn apart by her hands by her gaze, but. He needs to be washed in something like calm.)

Draping his arms and legs and his being on either side of her, he gives them both a half-second to refute. There’s no need. For if Keith is parched, Allura is starved.

He swoops his lips on hers, and his thighs and his head are _ignited_. He feels the lighting strike course through her too, and it calls him to _crowd crowd crowd_ in even time. 

Feverish and sparking Keith kisses and kisses Allura. He swallows down her every sound. Her every sigh, every hum. Her every gauzy moan.

Keith kisses the princess, and he drinks down her solace.

This is the relief for which he’s been searching.

The more he kisses the more he thinks he is a bottomless trench to be dowsed with Allura’s affections, _provocations_ and he can never have enough.

But Allura’s had her fill.

Sated and satisfied she pushes him back up. Rightens his hair. Fixes her suit. Closes the circuit.

 _I… thank you_. he fumbles.

And Allura would slap him had she not been so dazed.

The daze remains with her for a long time after. His breathless grunts distract her from flying the castle. The cording muscle in his arms (in his _everywhere_ ) preoccupy her connection to Blue.

Keith’s voice, like dark, salted chocolate melts on her tongue and melts through her mind. Rich, gritty and delicious does his voice replay for her.

Keith is delicious.

And Allura’s upset.

Her tension, his appeal, the sexuality builds until she crashes into his room, crowding him with _her_ legs and _her_ arms and _her_ chest.

She grasps Kieth’s arm and-

_Where are you putting that hand?_

He looks away and-

_Where it should have gone the first time I kissed you._

(She can acquiesce to that.)

So Allura traces the coiled torso beneath his Blade suit. Keith can’t press his hands far enough, deep enough in her curves to dispel ambiguity. Yes he can know what’s underneath, but needs patience to _feel_ what’s underneath.

_Red never called out to him for his patience. Red called for his speed, for his fervor, for his passion._

His impulse.

Right now, it’s telling him to feel.

Allura plants kiss after kiss on Keith. On his neck, behind his ear, to his face to his lips- she cannot savor enough. 

Her wandering lips and his wandering hands have time not enough to explore before the Castle’s warning siren calls again.

(It’s just as well. Keith knows had they let themselves, his _passion_ would have only further kindled.)

They part. She stands. He pants. Allura embarks her lion and too soon, the Blades harken to Keith. The mission resumes. The war is fought.

_Yes, the war is fought alright, but is it won?_

_Princess, what do you mean?_

_What do I mean? I mean the war in my head. The battle I only in thin success am surmounting; the battle for my attention and priority. My sanity._

Keith doesn’t understand.

_It’s you! I’m battling myself with you, my thoughts of you! All I hear is your voice when I fly. All I feel is your touch when I wake. All I want is your body on mine and you cannot keep promising things you can’t give._

_Allura, I don’t-_

_No. You’re right. You haven’t done that. But you cannot keep giving without the follow-through._

She wishes there was time for romance out in space. If they made the time, there probably could be, but negotiations have long since expired. Now it’s the time for relief.

_Let me take the edge off._

If only Keith knew that’s what he keeps making her walk _on_.

It’s not romantic, but something loving in the way he draws his hands down her neck. It’s tender in the way his heat bleeds through his clothes. It’s soft in the way he guides them down, on their knees, him leaning over her as she’s trapped and _crowded_ again.

He’s still gentle.

His touch is light, until it’s not. She is so sensitive, his trail is indulgent and she backs herself up until she is fully enveloped and encased by him.

(She feels the pull of breath to his stomach on her back, and wants to feel more. _Let her feel_ more.)

Keith pauses his hands over places Allura gasps most. The shoulders make her sigh, but her breasts make her _ache_. Her sides she’s more silent, but her hips get more traction. In turn, he gets more friction.

It’s an addiction.

Hands feel and rub and _smooth_ where Allura needs most, and the relief that pours from her lips won’t leave Keith for days.

Neither does the new, fresh glow of his skin, either.

Lance notices. But either his jealousy or embarrassment- pride? stop him from commenting. (Maybe it was them all.)

Shiro notices, but lets him dwell in his radiant oblivion. (There are far worse places to find one’s passion, he reasons.)

Kolivan notices. He can’t _not;_ his sight is so keen and senses so heightened, Keith’s new aura nearly blinds him. He doesn’t permit Keith to unmask for a week. The boy’s painful hue refuses to dim, so he prohibits yet another week further.

(But shouldn’t Allura be glowing?)

(Impossible. For how can she shine brighter than she already is.)

The Princess is beautiful.

The Princess is bright.

The Princess is a fervid supernova in constant creation. Her light never fading, seen far, out and away for whole galaxies to see. There’s few her light never touches. _May Keith always be caught in her orbit._

When he wakes, she’s the only thing he sees. When he dreams, she’s the only thing he _wants_ to see.

As she returns his favor, he can hardly stand to see her at all. He averts his eyes, looks over her head leans over her shoulder, for his mortality is too fail to behold her astral smolder.

Instead, he holds her tangible arousing and counts it all a cost.

He holds her to keep his vision.

He holds on to keep his _wits._

It is deemed more and more of a mistake to Keith, letting Allura have _so much_ time to trace and feel and rub at Keith the same.

She doesn’t take the time he did to pull little gasps from him. She doesn’t expend any more energy in any more reactions. She simply grabs his shoulders, pushes down and kneels in front.

She gets to work.

_A-Allura, right now?_

She grabs him through his clothes. His heart stops. He whites out.

_What better time is there than this? You were so good to me, Keith. So good. Let me be good to you, now._

And if in some twisted reality Keith even wanted to say no, his mind cannot _for all its clever synapses_ form cohesion enough to dispute.

First he held her shoulder to avert his gaze. Now he holds her to anchor his focus.

Is it her _light_ that brings him such a rush? Is it her hand moving at him, is it her eyes boring through him?

She rushes him, and brings all new sensation. She rushes, and he chases the feeling.

Keith is held at the mercy of his body’s compliance; the mercy of Allura’s generosity. 

Even still.

Allura keeps rushing. Keith keeps chasing. And if she keeps providing, he’ll drink from her repose till he can flood no more.

They’ll consume _relief_ , until they can eat no more.

**Author's Note:**

> ((apologies for any #Cringe or otherwise Not Good Ish. It's baby's first Spicy Fic that actually isn't all that erotic. At all. 
> 
> Be gentle ';) ))
> 
> Many thanks to natdashg for her gracious help and patient understanding. Lunv uuuu
> 
> (Also, if anyone needs to vent their dissatisfaction for _my_ lack of deliverance. Well. [You know where to find me.](https://chickadeecrowns.tumblr.com) )


End file.
